A Name To Few Confined
by mercurialThoth
Summary: A series of one-shots that focuses on the many friendships between the Avengers during some darker moments in their lives. Sometimes having a friend to listen or talk to, if even for a moment, can make things easier (I said once I wasn't good at summaries this holds true even now; this summary may change as more chapters are added!).


_ What did it look like out there in space, Tony?_

_ What did you see on the other side of the wormhole?_

The words sent a cold chill down his spine, made his breath catch in his throat.

He had excused himself after a brief pause, the guests at the party glancing at one another as if they could not understand why the usually narcissistic billionaire would hesitate to answer. On his way out of the crowded room, pushing past women with too much perfume and men with too much cologne, he saw her look in his direction, a frown already forming on her lips when she caught sight of his pale face. He hesitated for a moment, and then pulled a reassuring smile to his face. Accompanied by a brief wave of the hand, it was enough to put Pepper back at ease. She turned back to the couple she had been speaking to, not noticing as the smile fell from his face.

He pushed past the double doors leading into the room, shutting them firmly behind him before finally taking in a gasp of air, his head falling back against the door behind him, eyes falling shut. Maybe there'd been too many people, one too many drinks—

"Are you all right, Mr. Stark?" a high-pitched voice inquired. He straightened up guiltily, looking up at the young woman just exiting the bathrooms across from him. She had a name but for the life of him, he could not recall it—only that he had once made a joke about her uncle, donated money to one of her charities—

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yep, yep, fine—just—peachy." He stepped aside and opened one of the doors for her when she started back into the room, but she stopped in the doorway before he could shut the door behind her. He felt a dull surge of panic run through his chest. Couldn't she tell the last thing he wanted was conversation?

"Maybe we'll have a chance to talk later about the Blind Children's Ward—"

"Sure—always ready to talk about—blind children…you know what? Talk to Pepper about it. I have uh—something else to take care of right now."

"Oh, okay…"

He shut the door behind her. The moment it was closed, he rushed for the stairs at the end of the hallway, off-limits to guests. What he needed most was to be alone—and to get a drink…

The room he eventually found himself in was a welcome sight. He had designed the modern lounge as a place simply to relax with Pepper and perhaps a few friends, but the last few weeks he had not found him in the mood to put it to use. Currently the dim room was completely devoid of people, and that suited him just fine. He stepped behind the bar situated near the doorway, reaching underneath the counter for the nearest glass and bottle. He poured himself a drink clumsily, his fingers not as dexterous as they usually were. Blaming it on the drinks he had downstairs, he gulped down the drink—

"Gah!" Tony spat out the taste of the sour drink into the small sink behind the bar, scrubbing off his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the bottle accusingly, realizing he had poured himself a glass of pure lemon juice. He knocked the juice over in frustration and searched for another bottle.

"Hey, Tony."

"Ahh!" He jerked around at the voice, heart pounding. His hand cocked back automatically, gripping tightly around the glass cup, ready to throw it at a moment's notice if necessary—

But the person perched on the seat near the window was hardly a threat. In fact, wearing that strange oatmeal colored sweater he seemed to favor, Bruce Banner looked as though he should have been working in a library somewhere sorting books. He had tugged the sleeves down over his hands again that nervous manner he couldn't seem to shake, and upon realizing that he'd inadvertently scared the other man his fingers were already working on twisting and pulling the sleeves down further.

"When did you get here?" Tony demanded, unnerved at the man's sudden appearance. He had not noticed him at all when he had entered, and yet there he sat, simply watching him.

"You…invited me, remember?" Bruce said slowly. He stood up; already looking prepared to bolt, as he usually did when he found himself in an uncomfortable situation. "That wasn't a joke was it?"

"Oh. You came?"

"Should I not have?"

"But—you weren't in there with the rest of them."

"…Yeah…I never got that far…Ms. Potts said I could stay in here if I wanted, so…"

"Oh she did, did she?" Tony frowned as turned away from Bruce as he searched for another bottle. All he could find were more glasses, seemingly coming in every shape and size. He cursed as he opened a cupboard only to find more cups. "Didn't even bother to tell me we'd decided to house the Hulk in one of our lounges, just went right for it…"

"…Did you want me to leave?"

"What makes you think that?" Tony snapped. "Sit back down! Have a drink or three. Or does drinking not do anything for you, Doc?"

Bruce came forward slowly, still twisting his sleeve in his hand. "Tony…are you all right?"

"Never better," Tony answered with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He finally found a bottle with a high enough alcoholic content for his liking and he reached for it, grasping it by the neck. He only managed to lift it to the counter when it began to shake uncontrollably in his hand. He clunked it down on the counter, his hand sliding down to clench on the edge of the counter. He gripped it tight to stop the trembling, but it did not help.

"I'd pour you a drink, really, but my hands are shaking. See?" He lifted his hand as evidence before reaching for the bottle again. Liquid sloshed over his fingers as he filled his glass, but he ignored it, even though Bruce was now staring uncertainly at him.

"They never used to, you know. I don't know where that came from. It can't be normal. Hmm. Hope I don't have any tumors growing…should check the shielding on the suit. Maybe it wasn't high enough when…things happened. I'll have to have that checked…"

Tony gulped down his drink in go, trying to push the feelings of unhappiness and unease deeper inside of himself. The glass slipped from his cold fingers as he moved it away from his mouth, shattering when it struck the ground. The moment the cup collided with the floor he was overwhelmed by the enormity of such a thing, the explosion of glass shards bringing to mind another explosion—a flare of light and the pressure hitting his suit—

He dropped down to his hands and knees, trying to gather the larger pieces, but the amount of glass, spilled drink—it was a giant mess, and the very task of cleaning was all too much to handle—dear god, why was there so much glass in one _cup?_

He knelt there staring at the mess, unaware of his quickening breath, the pounding in his chest, his hands slowly tightening into fists.

"I broke it," he muttered. "I broke another one. I can't keep them safe from me, apparently. Is that all I ever do? Break things?"

"Hey. Hey!"

He jerked his head up, finding himself looking at Bruce, who at some point had come around the counter. The man knelt down opposite of him, taking hold of Tony's hand slowly. Tony frowned in confusion, about to pull back from him when he became aware of something warm in his hand. He looked down to see warm blood dripping to the floor, the large glass shard still crimson red on the edge where it'd been clenched into his flesh.

"I'll have to clean it out…but I don't think its life threatening," the doctor said, as he looked over the wound, fingers gently prodding the flesh here and there. He reached out another hand, putting it under Tony's elbow. "Come on, Tony. Stand up. Come on."

Tony let the doctor help him to his feet. He snapped back to his senses once he was back on his feet and he looked around at the mess, agitation clear on his face.

"Stupid mess…I'll get it cleaned up in a moment. You still want that drink?"

"Hey, forget about it for a moment," Bruce said, leading him to the sink. "Let's take care of that wound on your hand first."

"I've had worse than this, doc," Tony said conversationally as he let Bruce do what he pleased. He could hardly feel the pain in his hand, despite how much it bled. "Out there." He gestured randomly with his other hand. "I've seen people with worse than this, too. Dead. Shot through before I could get to them. I've seen it all, you know. I couldn't always stop it. I couldn't always be there on time…"

"But for a lot of people you were there on time, Tony."

"It's not enough, you know. It's never going to be enough. There'll always be someone—god, what a reality. Someone is going to come and threaten Earth, there could be another portal—" He cut himself off abruptly, aware of how his hands were beginning to shake again.

"Luckily I'm not holding something or I'd break it," he muttered.

You should be the last person worried about breaking things, Tony, Bruce wanted to say. But considering the despondent look on the other man's face, it hardly struck him as something to point out. _My problem is worse than yours, suck it up, pal_; he could see the outcome of such a comment already. He pressed a small towel against Tony's bleeding hand, deciding to disregard the billionaire's comment entirely. "Hold onto that for a moment, okay? Where do you keep the first aid kit in this place?"

"Cupboard on the end," Tony answered, staring down at the towel in his hand. He pressed it tighter against the wound, watching as Bruce searched the cupboard for the first aid kit. The doctor retrieved it after a moment or two of searching, and he rejoined Tony. He put the kit down on the counter, and then looked around for the light switch. He turned it up, dull light flooding the area above the bar.

"I'll have to put in a few stitches, Tony. It might hurt a little."

"Stitch away," Tony answered. He winced when he felt a sharp pain in his hand, and when he looked down he was surprised to see actual stitches forming before his eyes, even though Bruce had quite clearly warned him. Bruce worked in silence, his attention only on the wound.

But in the silence that fell between them, everything that had been weighing down on Tony's mind came right back to him. It was either the two restless nights he'd experienced the past few days or the drinks he'd had downstairs, but he blurt out the thoughts running through his head—ones he'd not even shared with Rhodey or Pepper yet—out loud to the doctor.

"There'll always be someone who wants to put us out of commission, you know. I've been thinking about it lately and what…what'll we do if it gets worse? What if there's another battle like New York and it's too much for us? What if…we aren't good enough to protect the world? Protect the people we love—care about?"

Bruce glanced up at the billionaire's face, surprised to see the pensive look on Tony's face. It was true he had not known Tony Stark that long, but he guessed the thoughts spoken aloud to him were hardly ones Tony shared often. He turned his attention back to the wound on Tony's hand, trying to think of something to say.

"…Well…then we'll get stronger, I guess."

"What if we can't?" Tony demanded, turning to look at Bruce. "What if this is it? Or what if we get killed and there is no one else between them and her—the populace?"

"Tony…"

"Don't you ever think about it, doc? What the hell are we going to do when—" Tony felt his breathing speed up, his heart already pounding in his chest. The surge of anxiety seemed impossible to keep at bay though, and he babbled on even though he knew he was babbling. "What are we going to do? Who is going to take our place? What's going to stop any of our enemies from just popping out of nowhere and destroying everything—everything important—who's going to be the guy to put their life on the line if it isn't one of us—"

"There'll be someone," Bruce interrupted. Tony fell silent as he continued to speak, the doctor's voice low and even. "You aren't the only person in the world with the ability to do something, you know, but I guess it's easy to forget. I forgot, after all. Up until a little while ago, I didn't even think the legends about Captain America were real and then I meet the guy. And then there's that god walking around from Norse mythology that can practically fly. Maybe we don't know all of them yet but there'll be people who'll step up, Tony."

"But what if they don't?"

Bruce looked up to find Tony Stark was just looking at him, his expression clearly telling the doctor he was in desperate need of some optimism, hope—anything for some relief from the stress and anxiety eating away at him.

"…Then maybe…we'll find a way to protect the whole world before that happens. Maybe you'll build something to keep the world safe—maybe, I'll get this Hulk thing under control—and maybe…things'll look better tomorrow."

The words sounded woefully inadequate even as he said them. _Maybe things will look better tomorrow…_It sounded like he had read it off a card somewhere, maybe seen the quote in a book; either way, it sounded flat and cold, even though he really meant it. Tony did not even answer him, and Bruce could not bring himself to say anything else, so he continued to work in silence, finally finishing putting in stitches. Once he was finished, he turned back to the first aid kit, carefully putting things back into their place before moving to put the kit back in the cupboard.

Tony was not paying any attention to the doctor's actions, though. He was staring at the stitches in his hand, mesmerized by them. It would make Pepper demand to know what happened, and he would not have an answer this time. Eventually she would ask him what was wrong and he knew he would just blurt it out like he had to the unsuspecting Bruce Banner, unable to stop himself—and he couldn't bear to let her know how terrified he was…

He jumped, the sound of Bruce closing the cupboard as he put away the kit breaking him out of his thoughts. The doctor picked up one of the towels behind the counter, kneeling down to clean up the broken glass on the floor. Tony hurriedly grabbed another towel, and joined him in picking up the pieces. They worked together without speaking, until finally, the glass had been cleared and the lingering smell of alcohol was washed away.

Bruce lingered for a moment once they finished cleaning up the mess, opening his mouth to speak.

He wanted to tell Tony that he did not quite understand exactly what he was going through. But he had been in some bad places himself and he would listen, if Tony needed someone to talk to. And he would be there if all he wanted was to be distracted, too, because he had been through moments when there had been no one to pull him out of his dark thoughts…and they had been some of the worst moments in his life.

"Tony, I…uh…if you need…" Instead, his nerve for heart-to-heart conversations deserted him and he pointed towards the door, beginning to edge away. "I um…well…I'll just be going, then…"

"Thanks for the help," Tony muttered, lifting his gaze from the freshly cleaned floor to look at the doctor. He managed to pull a weak smile to his face. "I feel as though I owe you something."

"If it'll make you feel any better I can charge you two chickens," Bruce said. "That's what I use to charge. You'll have to kill them for me, though. Still squeamish about that."

"How about I owe you a favor?"

"You? Owe me something? Tony, there's no need—"

"Sure there is. So there you go. I owe you a favor."

"…Thanks?" Bruce paused, wondering if Tony wanted to say anything else. The billionaire seemed as though he was on the verge of saying something else. But when it passed a few seconds and he still said nothing, Bruce nodded and started back towards the door.

"Hey," Tony said suddenly, moving out from behind the counter quickly to catch up with Bruce. "Do you want see the new lab? I haven't had a chance to do anything in it yet. I was working at home but Pepper's getting sort of annoyed because there's not enough room for everything yet and she hates tripping over things in the dark, so…do you? Want to see the lab?"

"I—" Bruce paused in surprise at the offer. A look in Tony's eyes was almost…pleading. He shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

They made it to the hallway before Bruce was stopped again, this time by Tony catching his arm. "About all those things I said—"

"It's all right," Bruce interrupted. "It uh…well…I understand. Sort of. So don't apologize or anything because I get it, Tony."

"…All right."

They both continued walking. Tony was not able to keep silent, however.

"You know, I have to do _something_ for you."

"Tony, really, it's not necessary—"

"Nope, it's too late now," Tony said, patting Bruce's back. "You're going to get those two chickens, buddy."

* * *

A/N: The name of the story is based off a poem, which basically goes: "Friendship's a name to few confin'd, / the offspring of a noble mind / a generous warmth which fills the breast / and better felt then e'er exprest", which made me think of the Avengers and their relationships with one another.


End file.
